Verklingen
by venomoxide
Summary: He longed to feel the cold fingers of death wrapping around his neck, instead of that firm grip that refused to let him perish.   But he would never admit it. Not to that bastard.  RusPru, Angst, Yaoi, Smut and Historical Accuracy.
1. I'll Take Care of You

_Deep, beneath the earth in a confined space, a man sat. He had grown used to the dark, the shivering cold. Simply because if he hadn't, he feared he might die. Some days, he wanted to. He longed to feel the cold fingers of death wrapping around his neck, instead of that firm grip that refused to let him perish._  
_But he would never admit it. Not to that bastard._

**1945**

Gilbert felt his heart clench with the unexpected surge of fear – something he was not used to feeling. Where was the mighty empire now? He was sitting in his brothers office, face in his hands, dry sobs threatening to alert someone of his self misery.  
Soviet soldiers had begun their advance into East Germany quite awhile ago and as much as he attempted to convince himself they would win... they hadn't. And now, his fate was lying in the hands of nations who had no inclination to help preserve him. Oh, but how desperately he prayed that they wouldn't kill him...  
Nein.

He stood up abruptly, biting back the panic with enough force his lower lip began to bleed. Crimson eyes closed slowly, tears clinging to his lashes. When they finally fell, he couldn't contain them any longer. It seemed easier to sink back into the chair beneath him, bury his face in his arms and sob.

The only thing that caused him to stop was the opening of the door. Keeping his head down, he didn't make any indication that he knew who it was. He didn't have to wait long to find out.  
"Bruder." The single word was spoken with such a stiff and calculating manner that Gilbert knew the other man was struggling to keep himself emotionless. "You have to follow me."

Clenching his hands into fists, Gilbert hesitated, slowly lifting his gaze to meet the ice blue eyes of the male he loved so much. His own eyes asked questions he couldn't bring himself to ask, show hatred that he was ashamed for feeling. How could you let this happen?  
For a long while, they stared at each other, unblinking in a state of tension filled silence. Finally, the Prussian blinked and stood up, wiping his eyes as if he had never shed the tears in the first place. He joined his brother, standing beside him before reaching out to grab his hand.  
"Ich liebe dich, Ludwig." He said quietly, voice barely above a whisper as he leant close to the other male and pressed a shaky kiss to his cheek. He lingered as long as he dare before he pulled away, beginning the long walk down the hall.

His legs were moving, almost mechanically, because he knew if he paused, he would run. Run like the coward everyone thought he was. But he wasn't stupid. He knew that running would make things worse for himself. But even with that knowledge, the large door appeared before him much quicker than he had anticipated.  
Reaching out to open it, the only sound he could hear was his heartbeat. Was it beating away faithfully, oblivious to how many beats it had left? He feared it would be few.

The sight before him almost made him sick – with revulsion, hate and pleading. Roderich, Elizabeta, Vash, Lili, Feliks... Ivan. Save for the last one, they were almost a part of him, in some way or another. And now they were sitting before him, stony faced and serious and somehow he knew.  
He was no longer going to exist.

How he managed to walk forward and stand before them without falling to his knees in despair was beyond him.  
"Gilbert," he heard the almost pained voice of the woman he had loved for his whole life. "Thank you for coming today."  
And then Roderich was speaking, as if he thought Eli was being too kind.  
"You are aware of your current position, I am sure. Rest assured, Gilbert. We have talked for many hours of what to do with you. There has been no foul play and we are all in agreement that it is for the better of all the nations involved."  
Gilbert felt his blood red eyes widen. How could they speak to him like he was a criminal? Like they didn't know him at all? He wanted to scream at them – plead for them to see the absurdity of what they were saying. He was Gilbert! He was their friend...

"Now, seeing as Ivan was involved heavily in the war just fought, we deemed it necessary that, to appease the losses Russia suffered, the majority of the land that is Prussia, will be given to Ivan. What is left, will be known as East Germany. In essence, you will cease to exist, Gilbert."

The brown haired man continued speaking, but for the albino, he could no longer listen. Gilberts eyes fell to the floor, wide and unblinking as his breath caught in his throat. How could this be happening? Just as soon as his gaze had dropped, he felt a chill dance down his spine, reverberating in his core. His eyes snapped up, not having to look far to find the source of his fear.  
Crimson met with slightly darkened violet as their gazes met. How could he look so pleased? Ivan's eyes were narrowed, lips turned up in a smile that seemed all too pleased at the words Roderich had just spoken.  
Despair was replaced with anger. Of course he had always hated the Russian, but never before had he wanted to kick his face in as much as he did now. The bastard seemed to sense his change in attitude and with this, his smile spread into a full fledged grin.  
He felt Ludwig's fingers around his arm now, leading him towards the delighted looking nation. He wanted to pull his eyes away from those violet eyes but they were transfixing, like he was being led towards the devil.  
"Ne boisya," he heard Ivan's quiet voice say as Ludwig's fingers left his arm and stepped away from him. "Ya budu zabotit'sya o vas, Prussen."

-  
Translation Notes  
Nein - No  
Ne Boisya - Don't be afraid  
Ya budu zabotit'sya o vas, Prussen - I will take care of you, Prussia. (In nickname form.)


	2. Seperation

It seemed so long ago, when he had been practically dragged away from West. At first, he had seemed calm. But then the bastard spoke in Russian, like he would appreciate the gesture, and reached out to touch his face and Gilbert snapped. He was not a toy, for the Russian to break like a spoiled child and he wanted to be sure Ivan knew that.  
He had turned away from the tall man, grasping for the German behind him with a desperate sob leaving his lips. Fingers attached themselves to the front of Ludwig's jacket, fisting into an iron grip around the fabric in a grip that would require him to be killed before it let go. His brothers blue eyes widened, with mingling senses of horror and shock – he obviously hadn't expected Gilbert to act so childish. Even Gilbert himself didn't expect a breakdown.  
"Bitte, West! _Bitte_!" He cried, voice breaking as someone had grabbed him from behind, a gloved hand going over his mouth, smothering his cries. But he still wouldn't let go, even as he flailed and kicked and Ludwig attempted to pry his fingers away. He couldn't let go.  
He couldn't die.

"Let go, Gilbert..." He heard the revolting voice in his ear; it had been Ivan who grabbed him, one arm wrapped firmly around his waist from behind and the other restraining him from making any noise. "You don't have to fear me." Inwardly, Gilbert cringed, feeling his fingers finally slipping from the fabric as his bruder took a step back, looking like he was near tears. As for the Prussian, he was close as well. They finally slipped from his eyes as Ivan continued to speak into his ear, tone of his voice sounding much too delighted for Gilbert's taste.  
"Your brother _wants_ you to leave, can't you see?"

**1946**

The wall behind his back felt cold, just as cold as his hands were. Heat was something he craved these days, wishing for the feeling of sunlight. If he could see his reflection, he was sure that he would cringe. Deathly pale and frighteningly thin. Gilbert Bielschmidt was dying.  
Of course, he had never expected the bastard to make his death an easy thing. Besides, what fun would that have been? His crimson eyes narrowed at the thought, though the majority of his anger was kept suppressed inside. He needed to save it for when Ivan decided to pay him a visit. It was the only way he could fight back against the monster – the only way to keep his dignity alive.  
But dignity had been lost long ago for the Prussian... It had been lost with the first time he had passed out from blood loss, the first time he screamed for mercy as his bones were broken, the first time the bastard made him beg like a common whore.  
His whole body shivered at the thought, repulsed by every image that replayed through his mind, like poison. Eyes fluttering closed, he prayed for sleep that he knew wouldn't come. Instead, his mind wandered through his memories, settling on right after he had arrived in the Russians home...

Gilbert had been deathly silent the whole way there, seated beside Ivan in the back of the car. It was a long ride, made longer by the pain pulsing through his veins with every breath he took. West... He was driving away from the only person he truly loved more than himself. Why wasn't he screaming? Killing the bastard he hated so much?  
Because he was afraid. And never before had the Prussian felt so doused in fear that it made him immobile. And that was the only reason he stayed silent as Ivan pulled him from the car. Silent as he was lead up to the Russian's house. Silent as he passed the other inhabitants of the bastards living space. They all looked at him with eyes of pity – Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia... However, Belarus and Ukraine seemed impartial to his arrival. He avoided their gazes, feeling like a wounded dog being led out to the back of the house where he would be shot.

And then they were walking down stairs, spiralling downwards, temperature dropping considerably with each step the Prussian was forced to take. As they reached the bottom, Ivan's fingers finally left his arm, violet eyes staring straight at him. "Welcome to your new home, Prussen..."  
Gilbert's eyes flickered around, taking in the scene before him. It was nothing more than an unfinished basement, floors of dirt and concrete walls. Kept cold like a freezer. In a chilling way, it reminded him of a morgue. But the worst part that his crimson hues locked on was the chains, attached to the wall. And next to it, a table, of instruments that he had only seen when he made visits with West to the doctor at Auschwitz – Mengele.

His eyes widened at them, obviously unnerved by the thought that they were meant for him. "Nein..." He said quietly, backing up until his hands met with the ice cold concrete behind him, as if searching for a way out. He tore his gaze from them, back to the Russian, with a hint of pleading visible.  
Ivan's face was completely calm, with the faintest bit of amusement written on his lips. "Nein? Why, I haven't even done anything yet, Gilbert. You act like I'm going to hurt you..." He said quietly, tilting his head with the curiosity of a child. And yet, Gilberts hands were shaking, all dignity and might condensed into the quivering movements of a frightened child. What was wrong with him? How could this one man evoke such fear in him...

The Russian moved forward, large smile spreading across his face, looking similar to a predator that had finally found what he had been hunting. "Don't worry, dorogoyaja, I said I would take care of you. After all, I will be with you until you die…"


	3. You Belong To Me

The first night had been the worst. Simply because he had never known pain like that before; never known what it felt like to wish for death more than anything in the world. At times, it seemed like he couldn't feel anything anymore. Like he had become desensitised to anything that the Russian could throw out. And then the knife would push a little deeper, or the iron grip would bend something hard enough to cause it to snap.  
That was when he forgot who he was. Forgot everything but pain… pain and West.

* * *

Gilbert's breathing was laboured and his lungs sounded as if they were filled with blood. Faintly, he wondered if they were. His arms were chained above his head, immobilizing him completely. As if he could move… As if he would want to. All he could manage was to hang his head, staring at the blood stained floor beneath him. Stained with his blood.  
The thought made his stomach churn and he closed his eyes, not wishing to feel worse than he already did. How long had it been since Ivan had left? One minute? An hour?  
He only hoped that he wouldn't come back this time. That he would let him die. But, of course, the devil has no mercy.

And sure enough, before his thoughts could stray too far, he heard the bone chilling sound of the Russian's boots on the wooden stairs. _Thud_. Thud. **Thud**. **_Thud_**.  
It seemed that the Prussian's heart was in time, beating in a staccato pace, like hummingbirds wings. His weakened grip on the chains around his wrist tightened the slightest bit, as if he could still manage to pull himself away. To save himself from what was coming.

"Pryvet, Gilbert… You are feeling better, da?" The man's voice made him cringe, even before his finger touched his chin, tilting his head upwards. Violet stared into crimson and Gilbert felt the familiar feeling of defiance rise up within him. Even with broken bones and wounds littering his body, the sight of the Russian made his veins pound with hate. Oh, how much he wanted to come back with some witty reply. To sneer in his face. Something to show that he hadn't won yet…

But all he could manage was a weak cough, some blood escaping from the corner of his mouth as he tried to catch his breath once again.  
"Mm, obviously not…" Ivan mused, gently running a finger down his jaw line and back up again, producing shivers in the albinos spine. "But that's alright. You'll feel better soon." And with that, the finger trailed down his neck, lingering over the iron cross necklace. It only took a few moments for the German to realize his intentions.

"Nein!" He cried, as loudly as his haggard voice would let him. And when it died out, he continued to mouth the word, tears streaming from his eyes without a sense of pride left in his entire being. That was his only connection to Ludwig. To Germany. To everything that he had ever been. And now, it was resting between three of the Russians fingers. His lifeline, balanced in the palm of the devil, hanging by a delicate string that could be easily snapped. And as if he were blind to the protests, Ivan simply stared into the Prussian's eyes and tugged, snapping the chain from around his neck. It disappeared into a pocket and Gilbert felt as if his entire being had been ripped out from the inside.

"You have no need for that," Ivan said quietly, as if he were consoling him, when in reality his tone was only a shade above malicious. "You belong to me now. Not Germany. Not your brother… No one but me."  
Gilbert tensed at his words, eyes filled with tears that clung to his lower lashes, only falling when he blinked. Oh, how weak he felt. How useless… What would Ludwig think of him now? Chained to a wall, beaten and bruised, tear stains on his cheeks. There was only one more thing that the Russian hadn't taken from him. And to be honest, he was counting the seconds until it would happen.

As the other males fingers ghosted down his chest, his stomach clenched with disgust, every muscle in his body screaming in protest. He would rather be killed than this. "Nein…" he managed to breathe, eyes fluttering closed. How could this man's fingers be so gentle? The hands that bent his bones to break were now caressing his bruised skin, pale flesh against pale flesh.  
As fingernails graced his hipbones, he felt himself shiver. But with what – repulsion? A sickened sense of desire? The Russian seemed to notice, appearing to be pleased by the action.  
And there had never been a time that he hated anatomy so much. That he loathed the very essence of human life. Chemical reactions, that's all it was. His mind was screaming no, but slowly, with every inch of skin touched by the bastard, his body was screaming yes.

He opened his mouth to protest again, perhaps attempt to plead his way out of it, when Ivan took the opportunity to connect their mouths in a crushing kiss. It held no love, only domination and the slight tinge of blood they both tasted. If he had been about to say something before, even the thought of saying anything now seemed impossible, with the other males tongue in his mouth. It was pure heat against heat. Raw, spiteful and meaningless. The faint taste of iron would not fade, no matter how many times their tongues danced together. And he fought desperately to keep himself quiet – to keep himself from throwing away the last shred of dignity he had.

But suddenly slender fingers found their way around his slowly rising arousal, gripping him much too gently. His back arched, eyes widening as he attempted to think straight. To think around the sickening heat building in the pit of his stomach. Nein, nein, nein… Oh Gott, please, nein. How could those fingers feel so good when hours before, they had been breaking his bones?  
Finally, the kiss was broken, in tandem with the Russian gently rubbing his thumb over the tip of Gilbert's erection. The world's cheapest whore would have been impressed by the groan that slipped past the German's lips, echoing around the cold room and right back into his ears.

A low laugh of amusement built in the bastards' throat as his lips found their way to a new area of skin, biting and marking his neck. His breathing was now a mixture of gasps and pants. Need mingling with disgust. And for the oddest moment, through the impossible haze, Gilbert seemed to be able to focus on one memory. Ludwig. It barely lasted a millisecond, appeared and vanished in the blink of an eye. Was it meant to give him hope? Because it only reminded him that it wasn't his beloved bruder touching him… kissing him. It wasn't the other German who now was undoing his own belt. It wasn't Ludwig who was digging his nails into his hips as he thrust into him for the first time.

And it never would be again.


End file.
